Maybe something inhere will brighten your night.

It is dawn.The sun is filling the skyand my grandmother and Iare heaving our prayers at the horizon.

This morning she is teaching me the meaning of hozhó.Although there is no directtranslation from Diné Bizaad(the Navajo language)into Englishevery living being knows what hozhó means.

Hozhó isevery drop of rainevery eyelashevery leaf on every treeevery feather on the bluebird's wingHozhó is undeniable beauty.

It is every breath that we give to the trees.And every breath they give to us in return.Hozhó is reciprocity.

And my grandmother knows this wellfor she speaks a language that grew out of the desert floorslike red sandstone monolithslike arms out of the earth that reach into the skypraising creation for all its brilliance.Hozho is remembering that we are a part of this brilliance.

It is finally accepting that(yes)you are a sacred song that brings the Diyin Diné'é(the gods)to their knees in an almostunbearableecstasy.Hozho is re-membering your own beauty.

And my grandmother knows this wellfor she speaks the language of a Lukachukai snowstorm,she speaks the language of the sound of hooves hitting the earth on birthdaysfor she was a midwife and wouldgallop to the women in labor

She is fluent in thelanguage of suffering mothersfluent in the language of joyful mothersof handing glowing newborns to their creator.

Hozhó is an experience.But it is not something you can experience on your ownthe eagles tell usas they lock talons in the stratosphereand fall to the earth as one.Hozhó is interbeauty.

And my grandmother knows this wellfor she speaks the language of the Male Rainwhich shoots lightning boys through the skypummels the green corn childrenand huddles the horses against cliff sidesin the early afternoon.

She also speaks the language of the Female Rainwhich sends the scent of dust and sage into our hoghansand casts rainbows in the sky.Us Diné, we know what hozhó means!

And you!You know what hozhó means!

And deep down we know what hozho does not mean.Like the days we walk in sadness.The days we live for money.The days we live for fame.

Like the day the conquistadors cameclimbed down from their horses and asked usif they could buythe mountains.

We knew this was not hozhóbecause we knewyou could not own a mountain.But we knew we could make it hozhó once again!

So we took their silver swordsand we took their silver coinsand we melted themwith fire and buffalo hide bellowsand recast them into beautifulsquash blossom jewelry piecesand strung it around their necks!

We took the silver helmets straight off their headsand transformed it intoa fearless beauty.We made jewelry:Hozhó is the healing of broken bones.

Hozhó is the prayer that carried usthrough genocide and disease.It is the prayer that will carry us through global warmingand through this global fearthat pitches shadows in our minds.

This morning my grandmother is teaching me somethingvery important.She is teaching me that the easiest(and most elegant)way to defeat an army of hatredis to sing it beautiful songsuntil it falls to its kneesand surrenders.

It will do this, she says, because it has finallyfound a sweeter fire than revenge.It has found heaven.

It has found Hozhó

And so my grandmother is talkingto the colors of the sky at dawnand she is saying:hózhǫ́náházdlíí'hózhǫ́náházdiíí'hózhǫ́náházdlíí'beauty is restored again...

My professor, Richard Kahn, shared this in one of our classes and I've never forgotten it. Today, I felt compelled to find it and here you are reminding me of the interrelatedness of all things through time.

Reply

Laura Salmon

3/23/2017 07:59:16 am

thankyou for reminding us what is truly important on this planet- away from all distractions.